


Lux

by DetectiveRoboRyan



Series: Intimate With Brokenness [5]
Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Angst, Clothed Sex, Communication, Crying, Cunnilingus, Explicit Consent, F/F, Femslash, Grinding, Knight and Lady, Last Night Together Sex, Love, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Semi-Public Sex, Smangst, Smut, Smut and Angst, Throne Sex, Trans Mae, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-10 14:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11693589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveRoboRyan/pseuds/DetectiveRoboRyan
Summary: The eve of Celica's wedding to a man she doesn't love, she wishes to indulge.Mae, ever chivalrous, obliges.





	Lux

**Author's Note:**

> i made myself emotional writing about celica riding mae's dick, ive officially peaked as a writer

The royal wedding is a grand affair, a festival spreading out from the castle and into the surrounding city. Commoners and nobles and knights mingle freely and ale and stories flow freer still, turning the Capitol city into one big, communal free-for-all. Even in her days as a soldier, a leader, Celica has never seen so many people all in one place.  
  
Or perhaps it's all the noise, the light, the motion that makes it seem so. Perhaps there's no more people in Zofia's capitol than there would be normally and Celica's mind is playing tricks on her. Either way, to Celica it looks like the city mirrors the stars with the lights and the color, like the city is what happens when a cluster of stars come together and share the festivity with anyone willing to take part.  
  
Alm calls her a romantic. He's right, but still.  
  
It's because of the festivities that the throne room is empty— and the throne, set before an image of Mother Mila, in a hall lined with Zofian predecessors where _Queen Anthiese_ will pass judgement, unguarded. Celica's bootsteps are muffled on the carpet of the throne room. It will be hers soon. Tomorrow, in fact, the day she and Alm— _King Albein_ — will face each other and swear upon the Mother and the Father's sacred names that they will be faithful to one another only, partners in life 'til death do them part.  
  
Celica's just glad that nobody's talked to her about _producing an heir._  
  
Mae kneels before the empty throne like an accused before her judge. Perhaps she's praying. Mae's never really been a religious type, but Celica has caught her whispering verses under her breath since her knighthood. Perhaps she's taken it up.  
  
"I can't _believe_ they expect you to sit here," Mae says, looking at Celica over her shoulder and rising, hand lingering on the hilt of her slender blade. "It doesn't have any lumbar support at all. No holder for your goblet. No footrest. And you're sitting under the glare of the big lady." She jabs her thumb irreverently at the statue of the Mother.  
  
Celica smiles despite herself— her façade of regal stoicism makes a number of exceptions in Mae's case. "Most Holy Knights of Valentia that I know wouldn't call Mother Mila 'the big lady.'"  
  
Mae grins. The scar on her lip, earned when she slammed her face into the frame of a door and split it nearly to her nose, curls into a C. "Good thing I'm not most knights, then, huh?"  
  
"I could never ask you to be," Celica replies. Her words are soft and teasing, floating through the air that smells of ale and magical smoke and simmering meat even this far from the festivities like the orbs of light that the mages use to entertain drunkards and children and keep the city lit.  
  
Mae rises. She bows to Celica first, then takes her hand by trailing it from her elbow to her forearm. She brings it to her lips. When they break Celica touches Mae's cheek, brings her closer and pulls her into a kiss. Mae's hand cups Celica's, pressing another kiss to the blunt buff of her palm. Her fingers shimmer with magical scarring that follows the intricate knit of her veins beneath her skin. Electricity tingles just beneath the surface when her hands brush Celica's skin. It's hard for Celica to think about Mae conjuring storms when all Celica can see Mae with is light.  
  
They're close. They make no excuses for how close they are, not when Celica's lips move to Mae's neck and not when Mae grasps Celica about the waist and not when Celica perches upon the seat of the throne, with Mae's teeth grasping at her lower lip. Mae's right— the throne isn't very comfortable. But Celica supposes she's not meant to sit in it for very long periods of time.  
  
"See, what was I _saying_ ," Mae murmurs, reaching for the tiny buttons on Celica's neckpiece. "You're gonna ruin your back sitting there."  
  
"I'm not going to spend _all day_ in this throne, Mae," Celica teases, letting Mae leave the neckpiece draped carelessly over the armrest of the throne. "I'm sure I'll have other ways to occupy my time."  
  
"I _guess_ being queen of an entire continent would keep you busy," Mae admits. Celica's hands find her waist, toying with the buckles of her ridiculously-contoured breastplate. She doesn't even wear it to accommodate any actual breasts, and even if she had them, an ordinary breastplate would've handled fine with the right binding underneath. Mae insists that it's practical, but Celica knows that's only because she keeps her snacks in it.  
  
Celica hums. She pulls at Mae's collar, freeing a spot of neck for her to kiss. Mae's knees weaken. She pulls away, drops to her knee like she's about to pull out her blade and swear fealty to Celica and Valentia and the Mother all over again. Instead she gathers a handful of Celica's skirt and brings it to her lips in a reverent kiss.  
  
Celica's hand finds her head. "May I…" she begins. Almost imperceptibly, Mae nods. Celica undoes the ties in her hair and lets it fall in fine, fluffy sheets down over her cheeks. It's almost frizzy, light enough to float in the heavy air. Static runs through it like the lightning Mae's always had a gift for conjuring. It tingles, but Celica knows that Mae will never, ever hurt her.  
  
Mae runs a hand down her calf. Her touch tingles even through Celica's boots. Celica wants nothing more than to strip herself bare for Mae, push down all the walls she puts up in order to soak in the light that Mae sings with, and if there were to be any night for it, tonight would be it. But her chambers are too far away for Celica to wait, and even if the throne room is unguarded (unless the statue of "the big lady" counts), it'd be poor form to risk it. As it is Celica just shifts, tugs off her boot, tugs down her stockings when Mae kisses the inside of her knee, lets Mae scoot further and kiss up her thigh.  
  
Celica's fingers tangle in Mae's hair. She sucks in a breath when Mae's lips alight along the soft skin of her thigh. It tingles, her kisses trailing lightning that dissipates into the air. Celica wants more, needs more.  
  
"Get on with it," she urges, perhaps a little sharper than necessary. Then she grinds out a " _Please_."  
  
She can feel Mae's smirk against her thigh, the tough tendon connecting her leg to her pelvis. Mae's tongue traces it, and her teeth come down just lightly enough for Celica to feel it. She tenses, hands clutching Mae's hair. Mae's kisses tingle like lighting, or maybe that's Celica, trembling in anticipation.  
  
"As my lady wishes," Mae sings, sounding entirely too playful for the situation at hand. Her teeth scrape against Celica's skin again and then sink into her flesh. Celica's hand flies from Mae's hair to her mouth, muffling a moan that threatens to spill from her lips like a prayer. Mae's lips and teeth leave reddish marks on her thighs, little things that make Celica tense and release, shuddering, muffling the sounds she makes with her hand.  
  
It's almost a shame when Mae's mouth moves from making hickeys on Celica's thighs to the damp crux between her legs, but words melt away when Mae pushes her smalls aside and her tongue finds Celica's clit buried among the folds of flesh. Her shoulders tremble and release when Mae prods it, lavishing it with attention that feels so good, so good that Celica's other hand digs itself in Mae's hair. Her lips don't have the same charge as her hands, but to Celica she may as well be a creature knit of storm itself.  
  
"Oh, _mother_ ," Celica moans into her sweaty hand, but she hopes fervently that Mother Mila isn't watching this. It isn't a sin to love or to make love but Celica is sure it's a sin to do so in the Mother's sight, on the Mother's throne, beneath the Mother's image. As if protecting her from the gaze of the big lady, Celica's bare leg curls around Mae's back. Her stockings are bunched around her other knee. Her other boot lies forgotten on the hard ground.  
  
Mae purrs like a self-satisfied cat, nose buried in the forest of orange curls covering Celica's groin in a wild thicket. Celica whispers words that she doesn't even hear— prayers, pleas, a mixture of the two. Mae drags her tongue across Celica's slit. Celica pushes her head back and moans long and low into her hand.  
  
She's needed this. She feels Mae's breath across her sweating skin; in and out, seconds at a time of mindless pleasure and then a break to gulp down air, only to go right back into the heady scent. Celica imagines Mae then, the way she must be— on knees that ache but that she ignores in favor of sucking Celica's clit long and hard enough to make her writhe upon the throne, muffle her moans with her hand. Mae, panting, Celica's juices on her lips and her length stiff inside her clothes, because Celica knows well by now that Mae loves hearing her sing. Mae, aroused at listening to Celica's moans, but eagerly awaiting her turn. (And her turn always comes; Celica makes sure of this.)  
  
Celica moans her name when she hits peak— Mae, Mae, falling from her lips like a hymn. She shivers on the throne, core spasming in white-hot pleasure until it all fades; Mae gets up from her knees and kisses Celica back down to Earth.  
  
When the stars clear, Celica focuses on Mae again— cheeks red, hair a mess, knees shaking, ready for more.  
  
"Switch with me," she whispers, voice hoarse.  
  
Mae reels. "Celica, what—" she protests. "That's— I can't—"  
  
"It's _fine_ ," Celica insists, getting to her knees. She stumbles, pleasure surging as the motion jostles her sensitive folds. Mae catches her, but she seems like she'll insist Celica stay on the throne, as is right and proper.  
  
"Celica, it's not right," Mae insists.  
  
Celica wants to laugh. "We just had _sex_ on that throne," she says. "You just made me take the name of the Mother in vain on the throne meant for her Chosen, and _now_ you're worried about blasphemy?"  
  
"Well, when you put it like that," Mae mumbles.  
  
"Mae," Celica hums, pushing up the side of Mae's tunic, putting her hand down Mae's tight linen pants. Mae sucks in a breath. Celica kisses her neck, fingers finding Mae's shaft. "Mae, my love, my darling, my angel—" Mae stifles a moan at the term of endearment, and Celica feels her grow stiffer beneath her hand— "We'll do nothing that you don't want as well as I, but what I want, tonight, is you. It's our last night together, after all."  
  
Mae swallows. She lets Celica guide her to the throne. Celica tugs Mae's pants down just enough to free her shaft. "Damn. I suppose you're right about that. This time tomorrow you'll be trading wedding vows with Alm."  
  
Celica feels her arousal shrivel, and stills her hand. "I know, Mae."  
  
Mae bites her lip. She doesn't want to say it, she doesn't _want_ to— she doesn't _need_ to, Mae is on Celica's personal honor guard alongside Boey now, she's _ser Mae of Novis_ and she'll see Celica every blasted day after this— but gods, it won't be the same. Celica won't be Celica, she'll be _Queen Anthiese_ and she'll be sharing her bed with a man. He's a man that Mae has met and likes and trusts to treat Celica well, but still. Still, it hurts.  
  
"I'll miss you," she chokes out. Tears form in her eyes. Celica's shoulders slump, and she presses their foreheads together. She takes her hand out of Mae's pants, cups her cheeks instead.  
  
"I'll miss you, too," Celica whispers. Mae's face crumples and she looks away, trying to suck in a breath. Her shoulders shake. Celica seats herself on Mae's lap and wraps her in an embrace. She's very aware of what it'd look like were someone to walk in— Mae on the throne, sobbing quietly into Celica's chest, Celica with one boot on the floor and her stockings bunched around one knee. It paints a vivid picture of what they chose to do in an unguarded throne room, eyes of the big lady be damned.  
  
They'll be together every day after this, but unable to be what they once were. It's worse, in a way. Celica loves her— she loves her— but Valentia comes first. If that means she must marry Alm, means she must use the education she's recieved in the years since ushering in this new age of men, then that is what she'll do, regardless of her own feelings on the matter.  
  
Were it only Celica who was affected by this, she'd do it in a heartbeat. She'd even pretend to be in love with Alm if that's what it took to make things go smoothly. She'd share his bed, bear his heirs (as that's one of the many jobs of a queen), guide his people while he leads armies. More so, Alm is her friend— she'll work with him for the good of Valentia, and put aside all her personal reservations for the sake of the fragile new union. But Celica is not the only person involved.  
  
What makes her hesitate is that it'll crush Mae— already has, it seems, and Celica's never seen Mae so resigned. Mae is what's making her re-think it, making her mind flip through alternate plans. What if she saw Mae in secret? What if she abdicated? What if she faked her death and fled to the Valentian ocean?  
  
She knows none of that is possible or practical. But Mae is what makes her sense of practicality stutter to a halt, feel the sweetness of what it's like to truly dream. Her angel, her hope— Mae has told Celica that Celica is her light but Mae doesn't even truly know that it's the other way around, too.  
  
She kisses the tear tracks on Mae's cheeks, and Mae rubs at her puffy eyes. "Where were we?" she chokes out, forcing a smile. "Blasphemy, wasn't it?"  
  
"Of course," Celica replies, letting tenderness slip into her voice. "It wouldn't be sex on the Zofian throne without a healthy dose of sacrelige, would it?"  
  
Mae barks out a laugh, pressing her forehead to Celica's. She's the most beautiful thing Celica has ever seen. Celica's tender smile lingers like embers in a hearth, still warm despite the cooling air. Mae smiles back, kisses the corners of her mouth, but whether Mae knows that this is a smile only for her, a feeling that Mae brought about herself, Celica will never truly know.  
  
"I love you," Mae whispers.  
  
"I love you, too," Celica whispers back, and she hopes Mae knows she means it.  
  
Celica cups Mae's face in her hands. She's beautiful in the dim light of the flickering orange torches on the walls. Shadows fall across her face but her brown eyes still shine, glowing with warmth. Celica kisses the bridge of her nose, down to her lips, down her jaw. Mae's hands find the back of her dress.  
  
"The buttons are on the left," Celica murmurs. "If you're trying to get under it."  
  
"You know me so well," Mae replies, smirking. Then Celica's tongue and lips find her neck and she shivers, and forgets what she was going to say next. Her fingers stumble on the little buttons but she manages, and Celica feels the fabric around her torso loosen as the buttons come undone. She tugs it down, off her arms, tugs down the top half of her chemise. Mae kisses her collarbone and then stops, face between Celica's breasts, feeling her pulse beneath her lips.  
  
Celica buries her fingers in Mae's hair and kisses her head. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispers.  
  
"That's the worst part," Mae murmurs in response.  
  
Celica swallows. "I know."  
  
It hurts to admit, but they both know that it's the truth. But they've spent enough time mourning for what they had— and what's the point of mourning for something when you can still hold it in your grasp?  
  
Celica takes Mae's cheeks and pulls her into a hungry kiss, deep and long and full of tongue. Mae melts beneath her lips. Celica tastes the saltiness of her own juices but it does nothing to mask how delicious it is, how intoxicating it is to taste Mae's tongue.  
  
"Mae," Celica hums into the kiss. "Mae, Mae, my love—"  
  
"Celica," Mae says hoarsely.

"Let me have you," Celica whispers, lips parting for only a second before diving back into the kiss. "One last time. One last time before I have to swear myself to Valentia."  
  
Mae swallows. "Here? Are you sure?"  
  
"My angel," Celica purrs. Mae's length stiffens and Celica can feel it under her leg. "I've never been surer of anything in my life."  
  
It's probably exaggeration, but who is Mae to condemn her for that? She nods, and Celica kisses her again— pulling, diving, deep, hungry. Aching for more, aching to fill a need to bursting and then even more to savor until it fades away and she'll never have it again. It's the last chance Celica has to do this and by the Mother, she's going to milk this night for all it's worth.  
  
Celica's hand finds Mae's shaft again. Her touch is gentle, fingers light on Mae's sensitive skin. Mae rests her hands on Celica's bare back. Celica hesitates.  
  
"May I?" she asks, pulling back to read Mae's expression. Mae's flushed to the tips of her ears, trying to keep her breathing under control. She breathes, and nods.  
They kiss again. Mae pulls her closer, until Celica is straddling her lap, and wiggles until her pants are at least a little more out of the way than they were. Air rushes over her length and makes her shudder. Celica touches it, rubs her thumb across the sensitive tip. Mae moans into the kiss.  
  
"Gods," Mae gasps when Celica's lips move to her cheeks, her jaw, her neck. "Celica—"  
  
Celica hums, pressing herself close. Mae's hips strain, and it takes all of her willpower to not ram Celica then and there. But these things take finesse, and Celica's far better at that when it comes to this.  
  
"You might move your hips a little," Celica suggests. "Get a little bit of friction going."  
  
"I don't want to hurt you," Mae says.  
  
"You won't," Celica promises.  
  
"You'll tell me if it does?" Mae asks.  
  
Celica smiles, a little sadly, and kisses her cheek. "Always have, haven't I?"  
  
So Mae moves her hips, grinding against Celica's tantalizing heat. She holds herself up on her elbows, feeling the hard polished wood of the throne's armrests against her bones. Taking up the sword along with magic has made her once-wiry arms strong, but even so, her breathing quickens. Though maybe it's Celica, so close and so eager, damp heat radiating from her folds and directly onto Mae's most sensitive areas.  
  
Celica has to hand it to her— the first time they did this, Mae had been so excited Celica had needed to stop her before one of them started to bleed. She's grown more patient over the years, though no longer being seventeen probably helps.  
  
Now, Mae moves slowly, almost hesitating— but only almost. They grind together like they've done countless times before— lips meeting, skin flushed and sweaty. Celica's fingers tangle in Mae's mess of hair, knees aching from the pressure against the seat of the throne, but her aching knees are the furthest thing from her mind. She lowers herself onto Mae with a gasp and a moan into the kiss, feeling the stretch and the surge of pleasure. It takes most of Mae's willpower not to arch her back and come right then and there— but only most of it. Her stamina has improved since they were seventeen.  
  
A good thing, too. Celica pushes her tongue further into Mae's mouth, cold trails of saliva running down both their chins, as Mae's moving hips push her shaft further, slowly, into Celica. She shudders, lets her eyelids flutter from the pleasure, moans into the kiss. They break apart for air and Mae picks up the pace, shoulders shaking, biceps trembling. Celica kisses at her neck and Mae bites down on her lip.  
  
"Gods— _fuck_ —" Mae swears, an ugly, hard sound that has no place in their lovemaking but it's always there anyway. "Celica—"  
  
"Mae, my love," Celica breathes. Her breath hitches. "You can go faster, you know."  
  
Mae lets out a breathy laugh, but her hips move faster and Celica moves herself to what little degree she can. "Well, you know," she says. "You always used to ask me what the rush was. Now I'm taking your advice."  
  
"Only— _oh, gods, Mae_ — only now?" Celica teases, her hand snaking down to Mae's chest while the other stays buried in her hair.  
  
"Been a long time coming," Mae admits. They both laugh, and it feels good, feels right. They sink deeper, harder, faster into it all. There's very little talking after that, and very little noise except for the sounds of distant festivities floating through the air and the sweaty, breathy sounds of their midnight rendezvous.  
  
To the surprise of neither of them, Mae hits her peak first. She shudders, knees weak, releases her load into Celica's heat. Celica's soon after, and for a moment they lie there, spent and sweaty, flushed and soaking in love and satisfaction.  
  
But all things must come to an end, and they can't risk anyone discovering them— even if they did just spend half the night ignoring this fact, Celica is engaged and her wedding is tomorrow. The moment, though sweet, had to end.  
  
It's luck alone that lets them limp to the baths under the castle unseen, and luck alone that they're empty. Celica disrobes completely this time and sinks into the water, elbows resting on the rune-etched stone that keeps the spring hot. Mae cleans up a few steps away, dunking under the water and working out the tangles Celica's restless hands made in her hair.  
  
Celica lingers. Mae keeps herself busy by combing Celica's hair, feeling the thickness of her coppery curls freed from the confines of her circlet. Celica leans her head on Mae's lap and lets her do so. She knows Mae likes it, and knows it wouldn't be quite the same if she didn't let Mae attend to her queen, just a bit, while she's still Celica.  
  
Mae breaks the silence. "I always pictured your wedding differently," she admits, voice echoing just slightly in the empty bathing cavern. "Less politics. More dashing knights sweeping you off your feet. Or maybe you're doing the sweeping. Either one."  
  
"If Alm tries to sweep me off my feet, I'll knock his out from under him," Celica snorts. "We've already agreed that there will be no canoodling of any kind in this marriage.""Not even extra-marital?" Mae asks, not really serious.  
  
Celica quiets. "It wouldn't be right," she says. "The affair would have to be secret, and if it came to light, it'd ruin the Valentian union. It's too much pressure for a lover."  
  
Of course. And Mae understands— they've talked about this, after all. About Mae being Celica's secret courtesan, knight by day but lover by night. It sounds very romantic, like one of those books Genny reads that Mae never got a taste for, but in practice it'd be hard. Valentia needed the stability of two rulers joined in a union, and for the union to work, Both parties' faith, at least to the people, needed to be unshakable. Alm's wasn't a problem— he'd never cared one way or another for sex or romance. But Celica— Celica was forced to terminate the most intimate relationship she's ever had, while being made to see her old lover and longtime friend day after day, possibly watching the affection they had cool and harden, possibly watching her fall in love and marry another.  
  
Celica didn't open her heart easily. She'd built wall after wall around her thoughts and feelings, walls to protect herself— walls that crumbled when Mae so much as knocked. To watch Mae, the one she loved most, love another… the idea is painful, but if it makes Mae happy, she'll gladly be there.  
  
"Yeah," Mae agrees quietly. They don't speak any more after that.  
  
The festivities seem to finally be winding down when Mae and Celica, dressed again, return to the castle proper. This is where they part ways— the knights' chambers are at an opposite end from the royal suite. So Celica makes her way there alone, lights a candle with a tiny flame from her finger, changes into her nightgown while focusing on every button, every thread of the rug beneath her feet, every shadow that dances in the candlelight.  
  
Her dress smells of Mae. Celica lingers, about to put it in the wash pile. Instead she holds it to her face, breathes it in.  
  
It really does smell of Mae. Celica's knees feel weak. She sits on the too-plush bed, breathes through the fabric of her dress and savoring the heady smell. It's Mae, Mae in words she cannot truly describe. Her heart aches. Her tears sting. She mourns for a lover that she'll see tomorrow. She wishes she'd kissed Mae goodnight.  
  
But that's enough being weak. Celica tosses the dress in the wash pile and blows out her candle, curling under the covers.  
  
She wonders how long it'll take her to forget the smell.


End file.
